[Ouran] Cruel Joke

The world is going to end tonight.

The words dance back and forth in Tamaki’s head. It sounds absurd. Surely they would have heard something about this before, on the national news, or on the internet. Somewhere.

Governments everywhere don’t want the people to worry, Kyouya had claimed with a serious tone and dark, frightened eyes. It’s coming too fast for them to do anything about it and panic would help no one.

So they just lie?
Tamaki had asked, with wide eyes and betrayal pouring over him.

Governments lie all the time. Kyouya had shrugged, all dismissively, and then gave Tamaki a queer look. Twenty four hours left to live. What are you going to do with that time?

He hadn’t had an answer. He’d fled from Kyouya in horror, unwilling to even contemplate such a terrible future. Everything, everyone, gone. In the blink of an eye. Nothing would be left but dust. Nothing would survive. Like what killed the dinosaurs.

Twenty-four hours. No, now he has less than ten. Tamaki had tried to resist sleeping, but a few hours nap had taken him by surprise. He had even less time than he thought.

So much left to do, so little time.

He wishes he could see his mother again. He wishes he could make his grandmother understand, but there’s simply not enough words.

It’s not fair, he thinks. There’s so much potential, so many things he had hoped to see and accomplish.

He wants to see what Haruhi will make of herself. He wants to see the twins open up to someone else. He wants to see Mori-senpai stand on his own two feet, and Hunny-senpai finally get along with his brother. And he wants to see Kyouya finally get everything he’s fighting for, prove to his father who the real successor should be.

Tamaki wants a lot more than that, too.

He’s been waiting. For what? The perfect time? The perfect place? For the feelings to go away? He’s not sure. It can’t be normal, to want these things, no matter what games Kaoru and Hikaru play. It just can’t.

He’s not supposed to look at his best friend and imagine what it would be like to kiss him. Kyouya’s so confident, self-assured, certain of everything. He seems to know everything about everyone. He probably knows all the perfect places to touch, all the best ways to kiss.

No. Bad Tamaki.

But time is short.

Confession has always been on the distant edge of Tamaki’s mind. Shoved there, as far from action as he can possibly keep it. He never intended to act on his crush, never intended to so much as hint to Kyouya that he wanted more. It was safer, better, smarter just to pretend and keep on acting out a ruse.

He thought he had all the years in the world. But not, it seems, anymore.

Tamaki gnaws on his bottom lip, wringing his hands together indecisively as he waits.

Kyouya might laugh at him, might even hit him. This isn’t normal. But if they’re all going to die soon what does that humiliation matter?

“Tamaki? What are you doing here?” Kyouya doesn’t really sound surprised, more casual really, as he strolls into the room.

Tamaki stares, his brain stuttering and completely forgetting all of his carefully planned speech. “Only a few hours left, right?” he jokes weekly, and runs a nervous hand through his hair. He probably looks like a wreck but he’s been running around like crazy trying to figure out what to do.

Kyouya gives him a strange look, coming closer. “I would have thought you’d be trying to fly to France.”

“Not enough time,” Tamaki admits. “And there’s something else I wanted to say. Or do.” Nope, it’s not getting any easier. And he’s starting to sound like a moron.

Kyouya arches an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Tamaki hesitates, looks at his best friend, and courage wars with fear wars with the constant reminder that there’s not enough time.

He can’t say that what he does next is really planned. It’s pretty much a spontaneous action he doesn’t think about.

He grabs Kyouya by the shoulders and kisses him, pressing their lips together without so much as a prelude, a request, or an invitation. Kyouya makes a startled sound into the kiss, but he doesn’t pull away. Perhaps he’s too surprised.

Tamaki keeps the kiss chaste and draws back, though his hands refuse to let go of Kyouya’s shoulders. To keep Kyouya from punching him perhaps. He peeks at Kyouya, a bit hesitant, and is alarmed by the slow smile curving his best friend’s lips.

The smile of the shadow king really.

“Well then,” Kyouya says, tilting his head. “Took you long enough.”

Tamaki’s jaw drops. “… What?”

Kyouya’s smile widens. “And it only took the threat of the end of the world for you to notice.”

Tamaki doesn’t really get where Kyouya’s going with this. “You mean, you’ve…?”

“–been waiting for you to realize your own feelings, yes. But I was getting impatient.” Kyouya’s eyes flash, his hands resting on Tamaki’s waist. “I had to do something.”

A clash of emotions bombard Tamaki. Surprise. Horror. Betrayal. Disbelief. Relief. Joy. He can’t untangle them, but what he can do is take a jerking step back, his hands snapping away from Kyouya and dislodging his best friend’s grip.

“You… lied?” He doesn’t know why he’s surprised. Kyouya likes to manipulate people. He does it all the time.

Why should Tamaki be different or special? Was he arrogant in thinking he actually was?

Kyouya’s smile starts to melt away. “I did what I had to do.” He arches a brow. “You didn’t really think we were about to get pummeled by an asteroid, did you?”

But he had.

Tamaki takes another step backward, his face twisting with what he can only describe as hurt. That’s just… cruel.

Again, Tamaki is struck without words. He feels betrayed, his honest affection twisted now. He can’t do this.

He works his jaw, swallows thickly. No.

“Tamaki?”

He turns on a heel and runs, knowing by rote the quickest route to the front door and his waiting limousine. Kyouya shouts his name, but Tamaki ignores him, ignores his sister, ignores the staring servants.

He flees to the limousine and chokes out a request to go home and buries his face in his hands. He’s not crying, but he is shaking.

The world’s not going to end, but for some reason, it feels like it already has.

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[Ouran] Surprises

It’s been five years since high school and the host club. Tamaki still can’t tell them apart. He doesn’t bother to try anymore. He loves them separately as he loves them together.

He doesn’t know them by sight, but there are other truths. Other details. Other ways of distinguishing one from the other that doesn’t rely on his eyes.

Hikaru’s hands are always warmer, more eager. Clutching hungrily at Tamaki when he crawls into bed between them after a long, long day at the office.

Kaoru sleeps like a rock. In the wee hours of the night, Tamaki has Hikaru all to himself. Intense Hikaru whose touches are soft and certain, who treats Tamaki like something delicate and fragile. Whose kisses are fresh with mint toothpaste and the chocolates he can’t help sneaking afterward.

Hikaru likes to sleep wrapped around Tamaki, his face tucked into the nape of Tamaki’s neck, nose pressed to fine blond hairs. He also prefers to be nude, bare skin pressed to bare skin, clinging as though he fears Tamaki will slip away into the shadows if he loosens his grip.

They have maids and butlers and cooks, but Hikaru still likes to spend time in the kitchen. Whipping up culinary masterpieces just to surprise Tamaki and his brother. He prefers lukewarm showers and late night television and face to face conversation rather than a phone call.

Kaoru is, at once, like his brother and altogether different. He likes to surprise Tamaki at random times. In the shower. Over morning coffee. In between changing clothes in the closet. Cornering him in the garage before he can get into the car.

The entire reason Tamaki is often late to work or late for anything really rests solely in Kaoru’s clever hands. He’s eager, hurried, more likely to leave marks behind. Claiming marks. He likes to dress Tamaki, too. Picking out his suits and ties and cufflinks.

He has a habit of pushing Tamaki up against the nearest surface, devouring with lips and teeth and tongue. Mapping every inch of Tamaki’s body as though he fears he’ll forget sometime soon.

Kaoru likes to leave little notes, in the condensation on the bathroom mirror, tucked into Tamaki’s wallet, text messages throughout the day, an e-mail in his inbox by the time he arrives at work. Nonsensical quotations, cute jokes, playful words of endearment.

It’s little details like that which helps Tamaki know that they are different. He loves them for the things that make them unique. And he loves them for all the ways that they are identical.

How they can talk to each other without needing words. How sometimes, what one forgets the other remembers. And how wonderful it is to be comforted by not one, but two lovers. Life, for Tamaki, is great.

[Ouran] A Little Bit

“He looks stressed,” Kaoru says, or purrs rather.

“He always looks stressed,” Hikaru corrects.

The twins slink into the room in concert and Kyouya feels his hackles rise. He hunches a bit closer to his laptop, trying to ignore their distracting presence. It’s a futile effort, but if he can at least finish this page of calculations, he can allow himself to be distracted.

“We should fix that,” Kaoru says.

“What do you propose we do?” Hikaru asks.

Kyouya catches their reflection in the corner of his laptop screen. He’s hyper-aware, prepared for the moment they pounce. Investment options waver in front of him.

“I have something in mind.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

Kaoru chuckles, throaty and enticing. “Follow my lead.”

Hands land on either of Kyouya’s shoulders in stereo, thumbs brushing the tender skin of his neck before the caresses slide down his arms. A subtle weight leans down on both sides of him, trapping him between the Hitachiin twins.

“You’re working too hard, we think,” Kaoru says into Kyouya’s left ear, mouthing the soft shell and sending a telltale shiver down Kyouya’s spine.

“You should take a break,” Hikaru adds, his lips tracing a scorching path down the sensitive lines of Kyouya’s throat. “Come join us.”

Kyouya stares with great intent at his computer screen and the blinking cursor. “I have work to do.”

Hikaru’s hand slides around, fingers nimbly undoing button after button on his shirt. “You have time enough to take a break, don’t you?”

“Of course he does,” Kaoru purrs, tongue warm and wet on Kyouya’s ear. “After all, a pair of bored twins is a pair of dangerous twins.”

Hmm, Kaoru does make a point.

Kyouya hits the button to save and suspend his work. “I can spare ten minutes,” he says, and removes his glasses, folding them onto the table. “Better make it worth my while.”

Kaoru’s hand settles over Kyouya’s groin, fingers kneading the rigid flesh. “Don’t we always?”

Hikaru snorts amusement. “Ignore him, Kaoru. He’s trying to pretend he’s not affected.” He nuzzles against Kyouya’s right ear, free hand drifting down to Kyouya’s belt and zipper. “Even though we’ve got him right where we want him.”

Kyouya smirks. “We’ll see about that,” he promises, and gives himself up to their lusty advances. It’s hardly a battle.

[Ouran] Whatever It Takes

Mori has never known himself to be the jealous sort. He is an altogether patient person with the exception of those seeking to harm someone he cares about. He supposes that there is a line for any man, and he finds himself prowling along the edge of it as of late.

It is utterly ridiculous to be jealous of Tamaki of all people. Mori knows better than anyone that there is nothing between the two, all jokes of parenthood aside. They are friends, nothing more, with an important connection.

Nonetheless, Mori finds himself jealous. Or perhaps not jealous but annoyed. Possessive. A bit perturbed in retrospect.

He understands that the running of the host club requires both Tamaki and Kyouya working together but as of late, this hasn’t left much room in the equation for Mori. Tamaki is always dragging off Kyouya for some harebrained scheme or another, leaving Mori with only the hint of his lover’s shadow.

Speaking of which, this monopolizing of Kyouya’s attention is definitely interfering with their private time. Private alone time which involves no clothing and wringing startled cries of pleasure from Kyouya’s throat.

No, this will not do at all. And Mori aims to correct the situation.

Decision made, Mori approaches Tamaki when he knows the blond can’t slip away, during the after-peak hours of the host club’s operations.

“Tamaki,” he says, his voice a soft, quiet rumble sure to attract attention nonetheless. “You’re being a nuisance.”

Pale eyes widen in theatrical hurt. “How could you say such a thing, Mori-senpai?”

Somewhere behind him, Mori can practically feel Kyouya smirking. So Mori leans forward, looming over Tamaki, radiating his intent.

“Alone time. You’re interfering.”

Tamaki laughs, but it’s a queer sound. He noticeably edges away from Mori. “Planning takes time, senpai.”

Mori arches a brow. He doesn’t even need words this time.

“And maybe it could take less time in the future,” Tamaki concedes weakly. “I’d hate to get in the way of true love.”

Someone sporfles into their hand out of eyeview. Mori suspects that it was a Hitachiin. He’ll get them later.

Nonetheless, Mori nods. “Glad we understand.”

There. Issue settled.

“You know,” Kyouya says to him, when he corners Mori in the supply closet much later. “You could have just said something to me.”

Mori turns the tables, pinning Kyouya against a shelf, fingers groping for the younger man’s zipper. “More fun this way.”

Kyouya laughs. “And they say I’m the devious one.”

[Ouran] Thunderstorm

Haruhi might fear thunderstorms, but Kyouya actually enjoyed them. Anticipated them even.

He opened his balcony doors wide, stepping out into the wet, noisy night. Wind and rain whipped across his face, pelting the bared skin of his chest. It was cold and wet; his skin pimpled. The thunder rolled directly overhead, echoing through his body and in his chest. Kyouya closed his eyes, feeling it rumble straight through him.

Lightning flashed beyond his eyelids. The wind howled. The danger was there, prickling across his skin. Sometimes, it was the only way he felt alive.

Warm arms encircled him from behind, a body pressing against him. Lips grazed a heated path over chilled flesh.

It’s that element of danger, Kyouya supposed, that drew him to the Hitachiin twins as well.

Teasing palms skirted down his abdomen, resting over the hem of his shorts. “You going to stay out here all night?” Kaoru purred, or at least Kyouya believed it to be Kaoru. He had a slightly deeper voice, harder to pick out with the rumbling thunder.

“I was considering it,” Kyouya replied, opening his eyes and looking out at the storm-tossed seas. Hmm. Which action to take? Enjoy the weather or enjoy what was surely waiting for him within his room.

“He says we’re not enticing enough, Hikaru,” Kaoru called over his shoulder. “How insulting.”

Kyouya was not one to be swayed by such demonstrable reverse psychology.

A silky chuckle from the doorway behind Kyouya announced Hikaru’s presence. He could just imagine the other twin leaning against the frame, all languid sensuality. “Kyouya-senpai’s sulking is what it is. C’mon, Kaoru. We don’t need him to have fun.”

Kyouya was also not one to be swayed by petty jabs at his pride.

Laughing, and nipping a parting kiss at the back of Kyouya’s shoulder, Kaoru drew away, and took the warmth of his body with him. “Mmm. So you say, Hikaru.”

No, Kyouya was not one to be swayed by their obvious manipulations.

He was, however, one to be convinced by the prospect of curling up in a king-sized bed with warm, twin terrors while lightning flashed overhead. Kyouya wisely went inside.

[Ouran] Opportunistic

“It hurts,” Tamaki whines.

“Well, what do you expect?” Kyouya asks, a bit stiffly, but not because he’s annoyed. Oh no. It’s because he’s tempted. So very tempted. “Prancing around out of doors in nothing but a pair of swim trunks with your lily white skin.”

Tamaki turns watery, near-violet eyes up at him, the very picture of misery. “You were supposed to remind me about sunscreen. You always remind me!”

Kyouya, soothing aloe vera lotion in hand, eyes Tamaki’s back with the lookof someone who has already memorized every dip and curve and freckle. “Am I supposed to keep track of something for someone who has assured me on countless occasions that he is a grown man who can take care of himself?”

Mouth opening and closing as he considers Kyouya’s argument, Tamaki finally harrumphs and drops his chin back onto his folded hand. “Point,” he grudgingly concedes.

Grinning where Tamaki can’t see him, Kyouya pours a generous amount of lotion and ever so gently starts to spread it over Tamaki’s reddened back and shoulders. Oh, sure, it is probably a bit sadistic of him, but really, any reason to put his hands on Tamaki is a good reason in Kyouya’s book. Even if he has to obtain it by slightly skewed means.

“I’m going to peel,” Tamaki grumbles.

“Yes, you are,” Kyouya replies, and concentrates on keeping his touch light and careful, so as not to cause undue pain. His hands sweeping across the planes of Tamaki’s back, feeling the heat radiating from burned skin.

His shoulders are, by far, the worst. Tamaki hisses as Kyouya carefully applies aloe vera there as well. He reminds himself that he’ll have to do this several more times today. And probably tonight. Tomorrow morning. All day tomorrow even.

Well, at least one useful thing has come out of this trip. He’ll have to invite Tamaki to his private beach more often.
For purely generous reasons of course. And not because he likes to see Tamaki splashing around in the ocean in those swim trunks. Or because he likes to apply sunscreen and/or aloe vera. Either is good in Kyouya’s opinion.

“I still maintain that this is your fault,” Tamaki says with a huff.

Kyouya squeezes out more of the soothing lotion. “So you said, it must be true,” he replies, and grins to himself. The blame is surely his, but he’s not repentant in the least.

[Ouran] Strong and Silent

It’s dark, which somehow makes the experience all the more erotic.

Haruhi can feel hands on her skin, stroking softly, making her hot and tingly. And though she can’t see whose hand belongs to who, she can tell, by the nature of their touch alone.

Kyouya is deliberate, straightforward, finding her erogenous zones and relentless in his search to make her moan, cry out her pleasure. His fingers tweak and rub her nipples. His mouth is hot and wet on her throat.

Mori is teasing, but firm. One hand strokes along the side of her thighs, the other presses against her lower back, pushing her closer to the glorious talent of his lips and tongue. Haruhi shudders as he mouths at her nethers, making her twitch and struggle for something to cling to.

Haruhi is no less busy. Kyouya is the only one close enough for her to wrap fingers around his length, teasing him with short, rapid strokes. Enough to keep him aroused and wanting, but teetering on the edge. Mori is between her legs, almost out of reach, but she can at least tangle her fingers in his hair, tugging on his scalp. The almost-pain is sure to keep him revved until she can reach to do more.

They don’t speak; they don’t have to. Years of being together have helped make them attune to the others desires.

So when Haruhi moans, near to tipping over the edge into orgasm, Kyouya’s mouth is there, covering hers, swallowing her cries with lips and tongue, the way she likes it. Mori’s own efforts become more vigorous, focused, gentle concentration on the cluster of nerves that make Haruhi nearly sing.

She comes with a shudder, body twisting and writhing between them, heat blanketing her body and shivers dancing down her spine. Mori chuckles in smug approval; Kyouya purrs into her mouth.

Her hips dance away from Mori’s lips, too sensitive, and the moment his hand releases her back, Haruhi flops over, all but tackling Kyouya around the middle. He falls back onto the bed with a quiet oomph, calm shattered when she closes her mouth around his rigid length, the taste of his musk thick on her tongue. Only then does Kyouya cry out, completely abandoning his usual composure. Haruhi smirks around her mouthful.

Hands on her hips warn her of Mori’s presence. She pushes her rump toward him, leaning into the long, sweeping strokes his palms give the back of her thighs. He presses toward her, nudging at her folds with his length before pushing inside with a delicious stretch that dances the line between pleasure and discomfort, but only for a moment. And then it’s bliss, sheer bliss, as they move together, the three of them, as one.